


That's What Boswells Do

by Capostrophe



Series: At The End of the Day [6]
Category: Bread (TV)
Genre: Custody of children, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Family unity, Marriage, Second marriage, Step-parents, love and support, visitation rights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 19:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capostrophe/pseuds/Capostrophe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It never just rains, does it? It has to pour. And as such, Joey is confronted with two problems at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's What Boswells Do

**1995**

The first time she returns, she's standing in the queue for the cash machine on the corner. She stares at Joey and he stares back without saying a word. But he can hear jubilant bells ringing in his ears, and when he starts up his Jag, and the radio plays _Ode to Joy_ , he can't help thinking how appropriate it is. And things go swimmingly until she turns to him, says _don't, Joey- because I'm married, that's why._ His hopes are crushed.

The second time she returns, he's cruising down the road in his car, thinking about nothing in particular. The family have all got jobs, and he doesn't know how to spend the day now none of them are at home. And then she appears out of the blue, tapping on the window, begging him to drive her somewhere far away, and Joey is horrified at what's become of her, at the black eye she sports, but amazed that he's somehow been given another chance with her. He gets beaten up for his efforts to protect her, but she's free to be with him now, and they're beginning to fit together again, like they had in the old days.

Until her husband leaves an eighteen-month-old child on his doorstep, and Joey realises Roxy's not as free as he thought.

The third time, she doesn't return personally, but delivers into his mother's unsuspecting hands a letter declaring him the father of her son. And it's this time that they start things up again properly, after a bit of initial uncertainty.

That seems to be a habit of Roxy's- returning when he's least expecting it.

And this time is no exception.

In fact, it comes at the worst possible time.

* * *

He's perfectly content, as he usually is in these situations, sitting in the car, waiting for Martina to finish up at work so he can take her home, mulling over all the current paraphernalia of his life. He's thinking of getting the Jag resprayed soon, something he finds absolutely necessary and Martina thinks is preposterously stupid. She doesn't realise it probably _needs_ it anyway, and it's nothing to do with his new favourite-of-all-time television programme. Well, not _completely_ to do with it, anyhow.

'Just because Inspector Morse 'as a red Jag doesn't mean you need one too,' she tells him every time he brings it up. Very down-to-earth, is Martina, all about practicality. She doesn't let him run with very many of his wild fantasies.

'It's not because of that,' he insists, even though they both know that's not true. 'And _besides_ , Morse is a gentleman of sophistication…and cleverness…and style. A man after my own heart.'

'You're not paintin' yer car and that's the end of it.'

And so Joey hasn't, not yet, but it's nothing to do with the fact that she's disallowed it. It's got nothing to do with the fact that Martina calls the shots. Nope, because she doesn't at all. It's just that he hasn't got round to it. And maybe he will. In a sort of off-handed, sneaky way, which he won't tell Martina about 'til after it's done.

Joey watches the small figure descend the stairs from the Social Security building. He climbs out of his Jag, leans against it, striking a pose.

'Greetings!' He throws up his hands to complete the image.

'If only you could see how ridiculous you look.' Martina walks past his open arms, round to her door. 'At least I see you 'aven't gone ahead with that paint job.'

'Yet.'

'And you're not goin' to, either.'

He pretends to be wounded as he climbs in, does his seatbelt up.

'I happen to think me Jag would benefit enormously from a coat of red paint…but if you insist on shatterin' me dreams…'

'You'd get bored of it in about a week, and then you'd want ter change it back. And you'd shell out another few 'undred pounds at _least_ just ter make it black again.'

She's probably right, if he wants to think about it in a practical way. But he won't concede that point.

'And when have I ever been taken to flights of fancy before, sweetheart?'

Martina just raises an eyebrow at him.

Joey laughs and starts the engine.

And then his mobile rings.

'Hello, yes?' he answers while simultaneously trying to execute a three point turn.

'Joey, your Grandad's had a fall!'

Joey steps on it, turning the car right back around and heading for Kelsall Street.

* * *

It's raining outside. Joey sits in the hospital, watching it drizzle down the window and thinking about what a mess this is.

Grandad's completely out of it at the moment, having been given some sort of drug for the pain, his leg propped up and plastered. He'd been on one of his wanders, insisting he could make it all the way up the street without his walking stick, and a car had come barrelling down the road. Grandad had somehow managed to get himself out the way, but in doing so had gone crashing down onto the bitumen and broken it.

'What were you thinkin', son?' he murmurs, but the old man's either asleep or not all here (it's hard to tell, because his eyes are closed) and doesn't reply. 'You know any one of us would've taken you in the car.'

Everyone's been round to see him. The Boswell siblings are visiting in shifts, making sure that no matter what time Grandad wakes up, day or night, there's always someone there for him to wake up to. And as Joey, living in Gateacre, resides fairly far away from this particular hospital, he and Martina have temporarily moved into his old room in Kelsall Street, so Joey doesn't have to drive the distance several times a night.

It should only be for a few days. A week or two at most. The fall's not life-threatening, the doctor has said, the break not too severe- though he'll have to be a lot more careful with himself in future, and he'll be confined to a sitting position and a cast and wheelchair for a long while afterwards, whether he likes it or not. But still, for someone so old, he's in fairly decent shape (Nellie's pleased to hear this and makes self-satisfied comments about the vitamins she puts in his milk), and he'll certainly muddle through.

Even so, they're all still cut up about it. Joey wishes Martina were here with him, instead of at work, so he could clutch onto her hand. He needs some of that impenetrable strength of hers right now.

And he's in this miserable state when the downpour of rain becomes torrential, and the saying springs to his mind- _when it rains it pours._ So very fitting, because it's at this moment that Joey's own personal downpour increases in intensity, that another problem is added to his torrent of worries.

Because it's at this moment that Roxy returns for the fourth time.

* * *

He's ducked out for just a moment, wandering the corridors in search of a coffee, maybe something to eat while he waits for Grandad to wake up, and he walks right into her- literally.

'Oh, sorry,' he murmurs, taking a step back, hoping the lady he's just barrelled into is all right, wasn't carrying anything that might've spilt when they collided, 'I wasn't lookin' where I was- _Roxy!'_

'Hello, Joey,' her voice is the same as it always was, low and whispery. It brings back an avalanche of memories, all the love he once felt for her and all the hate that came with his separation from Oscar, all sloshing around together in his brain.

'Greetings,' he tries to act casual, to still the raging hurricane in his head.

'Greetings yourself.' She shuffles her foot- something he vividly remembers Oscar doing- he picked it up from her. Joey's hit with a wave of knee-trembling nostalgia as memories of the kid come flooding back, but he hangs onto his cool, eyeing Roxy up and down as if she's a mere insignificant acquaintance.

'So…how are you?'

She shrugs. 'Can't complain.'

'And…' he can't resist it, the pull's too strong, 'Oscar?'

'Oh, yeah, fine. Settled into London really well, yeah.'

Joey forces his hands to stay still at his sides, to not curl into fists. It's as if the stress she places on the word _well_ is deliberately to torment him, to rub it in that his son is thriving without him.

'What are you doin' back here, then?'

'Alberto's havin' plastic surgery. Gettin' his eyes done- came 'ere because the surgeon's a mate o' his and can give him a discount.'

Everything about that sentence makes Joey want to vomit. _Of course_ he'd be the sort of sleazy git that'd want plastic surgery. Joey's only seen him once- during the court case, but he's seen and heard enough to know what Alberto's like.

'So what are you doin' 'ere? In the hospital?'

'Me Grandad's 'ad a fall.'

'Oh.' Roxy rolls her eyes. 'Another _crisis_. I might've known. Same old Joey.'

_Snide little cow when it comes to family matters. Same old Roxy._

'Yeah, anyway,' Joey doesn't want to be here anymore, doesn't want to be having this conversation, because it's horrible and awkward to have to endure, 'I'd best be goin'- I'm just waiting for one of me brothers to take over watchin' Grandad, and for me wife to come and get me so I can go home.'

Roxy's eyebrows slant.

' _Wife?_ Really, Joey? If you're gonna come up with a lie to make me jealous, you're gonna have to do better than that.'

She turns and walks off in the other direction, and Joey stares after her, blood boiling.

* * *

Martina comes by the hospital after work, and they go and say a goodbye to Grandad before heading back to Kelsall Street for dinner.

'Maxine,' Grandad says. He never _has_ gotten her name right.

She smiles at him. Of all Joey's family, Grandad is undoubtedly Martina's favourite. Some days, when they go to visit and she gets roped into taking his tray, she'll disappear for half an hour or more, missing the meal, and he'll go round in search of her to find the two of them chatting away like old friends. He doesn't know why, but she has more patience for him than the others, can sit and listen to his stories without passing judgement. And, though there are occasionally odd senile comments about the size of her chest (oh, how Joey regrets that time, years ago, when he admitted to Grandad he'd looked down her blouse while making a claim) and _I thought you were Shifty's one,_ the old man likes her, too. Possibly it's because Martina tells him things, doesn't patronise him like Joey and the others tend to do without realising.

He reaches a shaking hand out from the blankets and she takes it. 'How're you doin', Grandad?'

'I don't know why I'm still 'ere. There's nothin' wrong with me a good dinner wouldn't put right. 'ave you seen the rubbish they serve me 'ere? It's all full of chemicals. Everyone fills everything with chemicals nowadays.'

Martina just shakes her head fondly, listening as he rambles on. And Joey, standing a few feet away from the bed, watches the two of them and feels himself ache right through his bones with love for them both.

A thought comes. It's one he's had before, but it rings true now, about Roxy and Martina, about how different they are. Roxy couldn't stand to be anywhere near his family, went out of her way to avoid them, and have Joey avoid them as much as possible, out of some sick, twisted form of jealousy. Martina, for all her comments about the 'thieving, scheming Boswells' lets Joey be there for them the instant he's needed, even pushes him, sometimes, when he's reluctant, comes with him if necessary. She interacts with them, knows how important they are to him and hence tries to be civil even with the members who especially annoy her, will be on hand at the drop of a hat if something goes wrong.

He remembers Roxy's words. _Oh, another crisis._ He looks at Martina now, sitting beside Grandad and talking with him, having allowed herself to be uprooted from her home and her normal routine to help out, to be there, both for Joey and for everyone else.

Something his Dad said when he and Roxy split comes back to him. _Roxy is to you what Lil is to me_. Well, he thinks, if that's so, then Martina is to him what _Nellie_ is to Freddie. Martina is infinitely better for him. He knows this the way he knows that one plus one equals two, that the Enterprise Allowance Scheme is the easiest Social Security initiative to take advantage of, that in the beginning God created the Heavens and the earth, that Billy will never really get over Julie, that the earth goes around the sun. Knows it because it's a fact.

He wants to forget about Roxy forever. He wants to forget seeing her today. He wants to concentrate on his wife, his family, on Grandad- he's got a lot to worry about there, for though the old man evaded fatality this time, Joey's beginning to realise he hasn't got a lot of time left- but Roxy having turned up has triggered thoughts of Oscar, and Oscar's a lot harder to put out of his head. Because, while Joey may be over Roxy, he's _not_ over Oscar.

* * *

Joey thinks about it all in the car on the way home. He's silent the entire drive, is silent through most of the dinner, despite having his Mam, Billy, Martina and Jack, who's popped over the road for his meal, all there to talk to. Why has his ex-wife decided to rear her head now, of all times? He's got enough on his plate what with poor Grandad, without having to contend with reminders of what Roxy did to him, with Oscar, who's out there somewhere living his life without him.

He's so preoccupied that he doesn't even look at what he's eating, just spears random lumps and pushes them between his teeth. So when he tastes chicken he nearly chokes in shock.

Joey frantically spits it out and looks up to see Billy happily ploughing through his vegetarian dish.

' _Billy!_ ' he protests, flabbergasted. 'Why didn't anyone warn me he'd swapped the plates around?'

Martina and Jack look at each other.

'We would have expected you ter notice, dear,' Martina says.

'Yeah- and then when you didn't, we 'ad too much fun seein' how long it'd take you to figure it out,' Jack adds.

'Don't torment our Joey,' Nellie reprimands, 'he's just worried about Grandad- well, we're _all_ worried about Grandad!'

'I wasn't tormenting him,' Billy says, 'I just thought Joey's food looked better.'

'And we're just dealin' with our worries about Grandad in a different way,' Jack says, and, at Nellie's stern look, adds, 'with humour. It helps a lot, humour.'

Joey can't argue with that- he's found this to be true on many occasions. 'Mam, look, it's okay, it's no sweat about the food. I just won't eat the meat, that's all- and Billy, you can give me some o' the mushrooms back.'

Billy reluctantly puts _one_ back on Joey's plate and the meal goes along relatively smoothly from then on. And Joey tries to join in with their conversations, and tries to stop Billy jumping to his feet, and acts like he normally does, but he's still in a fog.

* * *

He stayed in here for nearly two years after leaving Roxy, but still, to Joey, this room feels more like Aveline's than his. After all this time it still smells like her, the walls still have that tacky leopard print paper (Martina had actually scoffed out loud when she'd first seen it), the bed still has those same plush pink-and-green pillowcases, which don't go with the black silk sheets he'd brought with him when he'd returned home. And somehow it feels like he's only just left Roxy all over again, like he's gone back in time to when the divorce was a fresh wound, when the loss of Oscar was new and dripping with blood. And, he supposes, it's just like that- he's having to come to terms with the loss anew, and he's got a family crisis on top to boot. He needs to talk about it- at least about one of his problems.

Joey and Martina are lying back-to-back, feet entangled, her elbow digging quite uncomfortably into his side- not that Joey could sleep even if he was in a more comfy position. He sighs, shuffles his shoulders a bit, ignoring the annoyed little noise Martina makes as she has to readjust herself accordingly, sighs again, shuffles again, sighs.

'You've got somethin' on yer mind,' Martina says through the darkness. Not that it took much perception to work that out when he's thrashing the way he is.

'Well, of course I have,' he focuses on the problem she knows about, 'just thinkin' o' Grandad in there…I mean, I know this time it was a lucky scrape-through…but how many more times before it isn't? He's not exactly _young_ , is he?'

'That's puttin' it mildly,' Martina snorts.

'What I mean to say is…I'm startin' to realise…he really might not have long left, now- the next time I get called up about Grandad it might be because he's…' he trails off, but they both know how the sentence would have ended.

He feels Martina shift into a more comfortable position, her shoulders leaving his.

'It 'appens.'

Her voice is calm, matter-of-fact. Joey isn't happy with her response- he'd really been wheedling for some empathy, some comfort.

'That's not what I wanted to hear.'

Martina shifts again, this time angling herself right away from him.

'I don't believe in tellin' people what they want ter hear.'

Martina's entire persona summed up in one sentence. No, she most definitely does not. Martina's always preferred the brutal truth, no matter how much distress it causes. It's how she does things at work, and it carries over into her home life, too. Normally Joey prefers it, likes the way she's so down-to-earth, but tonight it's doing nothing for him. Once in a while (and this is one of those onces in one of those whiles) he wants to hear the soothing platitudes, hear that Grandad will be around forever and ever, even though he knows that can't be so, just wants to hear _something_ positive after so much negativity.

'Even so, a few warm words wouldn't have gone astray here,' he mutters, 'in case you didn't notice, I'm upset.' He moves right across to the other side of the bed, so he's not touching her at all, attempts to take most of the blankets with him.

Martina huffs. 'Stop bein' such a _child_.' She tugs the blankets back hard enough that they almost come off Joey completely.

He lies there, cold, arms folded, staring grumpily into the blackness. It's not fair. She doesn't understand. Grandad means so much to him- and then there's the Roxy/Oscar thing to have to contend with as well- not that he's told her about that, but still. When your ex-wife comes back, her presence tormenting you by reminding you about your almost son, a few nice words and a comforting cuddle from your loving current wife about your injured grandfather would be most appreciated.

Joey watches the patch of light on the wall, where the moon's getting in through the window, counting leopard spots and not sleeping.

* * *

They're not really speaking the next morning. Joey awakens, after a few snatches of shuteye, to find Martina's already left the room. He frowns and mutters as he dresses, still incredibly miffed about the whole situation, about her reaction.

She's halfway through her breakfast when Joey comes downstairs, keeping her eyes determinedly on her bowl and not looking up as he takes his seat beside her.

'Have you two 'ad a tiff?' Billy asks from across the table, mouth stuffed with toast.

'No,' they growl as one.

' 'Cause you look like you 'ave,' Billy ploughs on relentlessly, 'see, when I was married to Julie this sort of thing would happen- some days she just wouldn't talk to-'

'Bill-y!' Joey chants, giving his younger brother a warning look. Nellie plonks a plate down in front of him, eyes the three of them meaningfully.

'What time are you going in to Grandad today, love?'

Joey looks up, glad of the change of subject. 'Jack's takin' the first shift, so about eleven.'

'Oh, that's good then, you'll be able to take Grandad's…' Nellie falters as she realises. Grandad's in hospital. No-one'll be taking the tray.

'Well, I'm off to work,' Martina puts her bowl and cup in the sink, pulls on her coat, gives a smile to Nellie and a scowl to Joey in parting. In an instant, Billy's on his feet, shoving the remains of his breakfast into his mouth so he acquires the appearance of a hamster.

' 'ang on,' he spits through the great quantities of food, 'I'll drive yer. I wanna sell me sandwiches down there today.'

Joey shoots her an apologetic look, knowing she hates riding in Billy's van as much as the next person, but she ignores him, walks out without a glance back.

Nellie starts to clear plates with a clatter. 'All this rowin', Joey. You want to watch yourself, or you could be heading for another divorce.'

She's exaggerating as usual.

'We're not _rowing_ , Mam,' Joey protests.

'The looks you were giving each other could have deflowered a cemetery! We don't need any fighting in this house, Joey- there's enough shouting when Julie comes by to drop Francesca off with Billy.'

'Mam, look, we're not rowin', and we're not gonna start shoutin' at each other, okay? We're both just under a lot o' stress, that's all,' Joey says, not entirely untruthfully, 'I'll sort it out, Mam. I'll sort it out.'

He gets up, leaving his breakfast mostly untouched, goes into the parlour and dials the DSS.

Martina doesn't pick up. She must not have gotten there yet. Joey sighs and puts the receiver down. Ah, well. He'll make it up to her later. Like he said, he was just so stressed last night, what with Grandad, and he had just bumped into Roxy, and anything like that is bound to take its toll on you. Now it's the morning, and the thoughts about his ex-wife are fading away like bad dreams. He ran into her once- just a freak occurrence, because she happened to be down here with her Latin fancy-man- she'll be gone again soon enough, and now he can forget all about having seen her, devote all his energy to Grandad's near-disaster. He'll put all the Roxy thoughts, all the Oscar thoughts away and get on with it.

Joey strides out to his Jag, calmed.

And nearly has a heart attack when he sees Roxy leaning against it.

* * *

'What do _you_ want?' he sounds harsh- he sounds like Martina. It's a reasonable question, though. What _does_ she want?

'I felt bad about…how we left things between us,' she says, looking at the ground. 'I just wanted to see how you are.'

'Well, I'm fine,' he says, though he isn't.

Roxy cocks her head to one side. 'Let's go for a walk, eh, Joey?'

'Er- I've got places to be…' he begins feebly. He doesn't want to be alone with Roxy, not just now. Every syllable she utters brings back painful memories of the court case, of her telling him he had no right to see Oscar, telling him flat out she was having an affair. He doesn't want all that. He wants to forget about it all, forever, move on and never think backwards again.

But an achingly desperate part of him wants to ask how Oscar is. He may be able to stop loving Roxy, but he'll never be able to stop loving that child. And so, when she looks at him, he finds himself nodding, striding beside her down the street and around the corner.

'You've got the world on your face, Joey,' she says as they walk.

And what reason has he got not to, he thinks. The world's suffocating him. He and Martina are fighting, Grandad's lying in hospital with a broken leg and now Roxy's added an extra weight to his load.

'Thinkin' about your Grandad, are you? You never could ignore a _crisis_.'

Joey's proud of his self-control; he doesn't rise to the bait. His family crises are what broke up their marriage in the first place- Roxy has never understood what they mean to him, and he doesn't want to hear her complaints about them- ever again.

'They said he's gonna be fine in a while,' he says off-handedly, 'they're just keepin' him in for a few tests, and to make sure everythin's healin' the way it should be before they send 'im home.'

'And the whole family will be cluckin' around him, seein' to his every need, I suppose.'

Joey grits his teeth. 'Why did you wanna talk to me, Roxy, if you're just gonna go on about me family again?'

Roxy stops, turns to face him. Joey avoids looking her in the eyes- although he feels nothing for her now, they were always the part of her that melted him and made him turn into her slave.

'I wanted to say I'm sorry,' Roxy says, and he's caught completely off-guard. Roxy never says she's sorry- or she never means it at any rate. 'I'm sorry for how we left things. Maybe I did overreact.'

'Well,' Joey says awkwardly, 'what's done is done, isn't it? And, I mean, it worked out okay- you've got Alberto, I've got my wife…'

He sees her roll her eyes, mutter something that sounds like _oh yeah, this supposed wife you have_ , but he says nothing. If she doesn't believe him, that's her problem.

'And anyway,' Joey intends to go on, but he trails off. 'Oscar…'

The name comes from his mouth without any warning, a Freudian slip he can't retract.

'D'you want to see Oscar?'

The sentence is so sudden, so unexpected that Joey nearly topples right over. He rights himself against a wall.

'What d'you mean, see 'im?'

'What d'you think I mean? _See him_ , see him, that's what.'

'But-' Joey can't process things in his brain. All he's got inside his head is a big picture of Oscar's face projected as if onto a screen. 'You said…you said I couldn't…why now?'

'Like I said- maybe I was overreactin'. Maybe I should've thought differently about everythin'- about you…'

Joey doesn't like where this is going. 'What are you sayin', Roxy? It's a bit late for wantin' us back, if that's what you're sayin'. I told you, I remarried, I've got a…'

'There you go again, twistin' me words,' Roxy says, even though Joey's sure he's not. 'Who said anythin' about us?'

Who said anything, indeed. It was only Roxy who turned up in the first place, only Roxy who started talking about _the way they left things_. Joey doesn't want to think about the way they left things. He wants to just… _leave_ things. The only reason he hasn't turned around and walked off is because she's mentioned Oscar. Even now, she knows exactly what buttons to push to keep him rooted to the spot.

'Look,' she says, 'I was just talkin' about Oscar, that's all. D'you want to see him or not?'

And that's just it. He does. He really, really does.

Roxy dictates the address of the place they're staying at.

'Come by on Wednesday and we'll talk.'

Joey swallows.

* * *

Joey stays with Grandad for the rest of the day, all day. His grandfather's doing well, getting right back to his old self, shouting at the nurses about the smallest things, breaking away from his restraints and trying to walk about, cast and all, and having to be pinned to his bed by the ward sisters. They don't want to keep him here much longer, they've told him- he's making life very difficult for them, and they're getting to the point where they'll ask his family to take care of him until the time comes to take his cast off. Joey tries to keep his thoughts on the old man and the old man only. He's in too much of a mess to want to think about this morning. Roxy and Oscar, Oscar and Roxy…his son, the possibility of seeing his son…it's all too much. It's all too confusing.

 _Come by on Wednesday and we'll talk_.

What are they supposed to be talking about? What does she want from him? Does she really mean it- would she let Joey have Oscar in his life?

He just doesn't trust her. He doesn't trust Roxy anymore, not since she ran off with Alberto, not since she destroyed his life by forbidding him contact with her lad. There's probably some sort of favour involved.

And whatever happens, Joey's not so sure he'll come out unscathed.

* * *

Martina's found her own way back, is in the parlour when Joey gets in, sipping coffee and ignoring the telly. The clanking in the kitchen indicates Nellie's starting dinner, and he can hear Billy stomping around upstairs.

Joey sits down beside Martina, leans in cautiously and kisses her.

'Gotten over yer temper tantrum, 'ave you?' she asks sternly.

Joey sighs. 'I was stressed, that's all.'

'We all get stressed, love. I 'ave to go through it nearly every day. Doesn't mean you need to start sulkin' like a five-year-old.'

'I'm sorry, sweetheart,' he murmurs, kissing her again, snuggling close to her on the sofa. He wants to tell her about Roxy- perhaps then she'll understand. Maybe she'll give him advice on what to do- he wants to go, wants to believe it's true, that he can see Oscar, but at the same time, he doesn't know if it's such a good idea. Martina's sensible. She'll know what to do.

'You've noticed I've 'ad somethin' on me mind…' he begins.

'Somethin' other than Grandad.' It's not a question. Martina's more perceptive than he gives her credit for- and really, that's disgraceful of him, because she's a DHSS lady born and bred, and he should know by now that she _knows_ things. She tells him frequently that she 'knows everything.' He's beginning to think it's not a hyperbole at all.

'I was thinkin' about Oscar.' He rarely talks about this part of his life with her. The silence is expected.

'Oh.' She shifts beside him, and he feels her curl closer towards him, reassuring him with her presence. Her arms slide around his chest, and he wraps his hand around her fingers.

'And?' Martina's form of comforting isn't sweet words or false promises of 'everything's going to be okay, you're always in the right because you're the one that's upset.' She's matter-of-fact, straight to the point, only tells him something will be all right if it actually is. But after so many lies from Roxy, he likes that.

'Well,' Joey pauses, thinking. 'I bumped into Roxy yesterday.'

'Oh,' she says yet again, but it's a different sound. Her arm tightens around him, at once both protective and possessive. 'No _wonder_ you were so worked up last night.'

'Yeah,' he admits, because to say anything else would be pointless. 'That's right.'

Martina's quiet, and Joey realises she's expecting him to go on.

'What would you do,' he asks her, clutching onto her hands, 'if Shifty turned up again? What would you say to 'im?

Martina purses her lips and Joey wonders if this was, perhaps, the wrong approach. Her fingers clench around his, and then she relaxes.

'I don't know,' she says.

'You'd be angry, wouldn't you?'

'S'pose I would, yeah.' _She supposes_. Her body language back then indicates there's no _supposing_ about it. ' You're a bit worked up, love, that's all. Just forget about it now.'

'I can't.'

Martina sighs.

'Thing is, she asked me if I wanted to see Oscar again…said to meet her on Wednesday.'

He can't read the expression on Martina's face, and for a moment he worries. Martina barely trusts even the people she trusts, if that makes sense, and he doesn't want her to think there's anything in it. He hastens to make himself plainer.

'And I just don't know if I should, you see. I mean, I don't know if she means it- Roxy often 'as ulterior motives, and I don't know if I should let meself believe her…'

'Mhmm,' she murmurs, as if confirming something to herself.

'D'you think I should go?' He sounds whiny, like a little kid, and he hates himself for being this way. He's the one making other people's decisions, he shouldn't need someone else to make his for him. But his mind is so warped as far as Roxy's concerned, he feels he needs an outside opinion.

'It's not that I want to see _her_ \- I'm still angry with her, Martina, I don't think I could bring meself to ever be her friend, even, but…it's just…Oscar…'

'You miss him.' Again, not a question.

'I do, yeah.' Again, no point in protesting otherwise.

'I sometimes miss people too,' she says, and he doesn't know whether she means her brother or Shifty or someone he's never even heard about, but it doesn't matter, because it's her aloof way of saying she understands. She's not angry. Joey offers up a prayer of thanks for having married someone so strong, so sensible.

'Go, then,' Martina says after a moment of deliberation, 'just be on yer guard, Joey. Don't expect too much.'

Joey turns, looks at her.

'I've seen this sort o' thing so many times at work,' she says. 'People say anythin' if they think it'll get them what they want. Don't….don't let 'er use you, Joey. If you think that's gonna 'appen, you leave straight away.'

She's right, Joey knows she's right. Roxy is trying to use him, just like she always did when they were married, and he should just stay away from her, but still, the slimmest possibility of seeing the boy makes him falter.

'And don't go runnin' off with 'er,' Martina warns, holding up one finger, 'or I'll 'unt you down and do all sorts o' horrible things ter you.' She's jesting a little, trying to lighten the mood, and Joey appreciates it. He manages a laugh, tightens his arms around her and kisses her, a long, slow kiss, pouring all his gratitude for her presence into it.

* * *

'Watch where you're goin'!'

Joey and Adrian expertly manoeuvre the wheelchair down the pavement, swinging it round in a wide arc and pushing it towards where Joey's Jag lies waiting.

'Keep it steady! Keep it steady!' Grandad snaps. 'Give over, you're gonna mek it go into the wall!'

His leg's carefully bandaged and propped up, resting, for extra comfort, on a cushion the Boswell siblings have brought from home, and they're all surrounding him, his own private little parade to get him safely from the hospital back to his house.

Officially speaking, Grandad shouldn't have been let out yet- it's only been a week, but his grumbling has upset the staff, and after a lot of hassle and arguing between Nellie and the ward sister, he was delivered to the Boswells with instructions on how to attend to him, when to bring him back for his check-ups and scans and when to eventually bring him to have his cast taken off.

Grandad, although he's still being snippy about the slightest thing, is very clearly, very obviously pleased about his release- far _too_ pleased, for he knows full well just what sort of treatment he'll get, knows he'll be fussed over by every member of the family, and, Joey thinks as he looks down at him, he's going to use this to his advantage. He's already requested a special dinner from Nellie- two lamb chops (no more bloody chickens) vegetables but no broccoli and pudding with brandy sauce, and ice cream on the side, not on top for fear it might make the pudding cold, and he wants it outside, not in the house (that hospital was dead stuffy) and he wants blankets around him, because the street is bound to be cold.

Joey smiles at his long list of demands as Adrian opens the door of the car, as he and Jack gently pack their grandfather into the back seat. Despite the pain he's probably still in, all the extra attention means he's going to be having the time of his life.

He's going to be fine. Joey allows himself to stop worrying so much about his Grandad, to push the thoughts about his mortality to one side and focus on the currently more pressing problem. He's meeting with Roxy in three hours, and Oscar will be there. His stomach's turning and churning and rocking. What's he going to say to his son- he hasn't seen him for three years- will Oscar still like him, will he forgive him for not calling and not writing? What'll Martina say if Oscar comes back into his life- if he gets, _finally_ to have visits? Oscar's a likeable kid, Joey doesn't know a soul who'd find him difficult, but he's Roxy's son, and that in itself might be reason enough for there to be some sort of resentment.

He worries and frets, then worries and frets some more, barely eats his lunch, and nearly crashes his Jag because he's not looking on the road. There are so many things worrying him about this meeting.

As it turns out, his worries about how Oscar will react are unfounded, because Oscar doesn't react at all.

As it turns out, Oscar isn't even there.

* * *

Joey kicks himself. Roxy's done it again. She's pushed him back under her thumb and squashed him with it. And they're not even married anymore! Oh, he needs help. He runs upstairs the instant he gets home, pushes past his Mam and Aveline, who are chatting in the parlour and look up with concern as he goes by.

Joey pulls the door of his room shut behind him, the relief of being safely away from everyone immense and welcome. He sighs, long and loud, resting his head back against the door.

 _What a mess._ This whole afternoon has been a disaster. And he's angry about it.

'Penny for them.'

The voice cuts into Joey's deep thought, and he blinks, snapping out of it. He turns.

Martina's sitting cross-legged, a pile of clothes in her lap, mending a button on one of her cardigans. She smirks wryly at him. 'Or, rather, I _would_ give yer a penny, but you wouldn't need it, would you? People who can afford leather gear and expensive cars, and are thinkin' o' paintin' said expensive cars on top o' that, can surely be spared a coin or two.'

A few of Joey's worries instantly dissipate as her words hit him- something about Martina's teasing always comforts him. He feels just cheered enough to take up his sword, to join the verbal battle.

'Ah, but sweetheart, wouldn't my brilliant thoughts be worth the money?'

Martina shakes her head. 'You dish out enough thoughts as it is. I'm gettin' more than me fair share o' profound Boswell wisdom without 'avin' ter subscribe to it and pay as well.' She gives him a fairly _evil_ smile, and a chuckle vibrates through Joey's throat. It's a wonderful feeling, a wonderful sound, it counteracts all the pain and the contracting of his insides that have been plaguing him for the past few days.

He climbs onto the bed, pulls her close to him, rests his chin on her shoulder. Despite the fact that being with Martina means he has to be constantly on his toes, always searching for a way to go one up on whatever she says, constantly teasing and playing games, there's still something very comforting about that smile, that voice, the warmth and solidity of her when he holds her in his arms. It gives Joey the sense of being home, of having somewhere safe to run to when it all gets too much.

'Tomorrow, we'll go home,' he whispers into her hair. 'Okay?'

She curls her lip. 'Does this mean the family crisis is over, then?'

Well, Grandad's back safe and sound next door, albeit in a cast and confined to a wheelchair. He'll whinge and whine and grumble, especially when it's only Billy waiting on him, pushing him round, attending to his beck and call, but he'll be fine. He's back on form, demanding his pudding and complaining about how many bloody chickens Nellie cooks and telling the neighbours to piss off. Back to the good old Grandad they know and love. And here's hoping he'll last another huge handful of years at least. And Joey wants to go home, back to Gateacre, back to their house, which holds no memories of Roxy, which is theirs alone. The sooner they go, the better.

'Indeed it does, sweetheart,' he nuzzles against her neck, gifting her with little kisses. 'Indeed it does.'

'And what about Oscar? What 'appened?'

Joey pulls back. The question was inevitable, but he'd been trying to distract himself.

He turns away from her, staring at Aveline's ugly wallpaper as he tries to think of a way to put it.

'You were right,' normally he doesn't like saying this, not to Martina, not when their entire marriage is founded on a battle of wits, aimed at claiming the other is wrong about everything, but in this case, it's warranted, 'you were right about it all. It was just a stupid game. He wasn't there, he wasn't there, he just _wasn't there_ , Martina, and you were right when you said she wanted somethin'- she did, and…'

He's babbling, just stringing the thoughts together one after the other, talking quicker and quicker and hoping Martina will be able to keep up.

'Joey,' she says calmly, cutting into his tangled ramble, 'you're gettin' hysterical, love. Slow down. What 'appened? What did she do?'

'She asked me to look at her tax return, 'cause she's never been good at those, but I always was, bein'…'

'A Boswell?' He's not looking directly at her, but he can picture the raised eyebrow.

'A Boswell, yeah,' he laughs uneasily, 'but then I asked her where Oscar was, if he was gonna be along any time soon, and she wouldn't answer me…I should've _known_ , she just wanted me for a favour, just because I was a poor sap who she used to know, who she could get to do things for her…' he's getting riled up about this now, but he just can't believe how imbecilic he's been.

Martina waits until he's done ranting, combing through his hair with her hands while he gets it all out.

'I did warn you, luv. I told you she was probably after something.'

'Don't gloat,' he grumbles.

'I'm not. I'm just _sayin'._ She knows that boy is yer weak spot, and if she makes you think you have a hope o' gettin' 'im back, she can own you fer life.'

'He's not my only weak spot,' Joey says, reaching his head up to kiss Martina. She gives him a warning smile.

'You're tryin' ter avoid the subject. You need to do somethin' about this once and fer all.'

'D'you think I should confront her about it? Tell her to stop approachin' me?'

Martina doesn't reply, but her face is enough of an answer. Yes. He should. But how can he do that? Roxy can crush his strength of mind so easily, can make him think he has a glimmer of hope- if only Martina could be there, like she is now, to be the voice of reason for him…

Joey clutches at her, taken with an idea.

'Help me.'

'What d'you mean?'

'Come with me when I confront her.'

'I don't do confrontations. Anyway, I'll be at work.'

'Couldn't you come in your lunch break? Or after work, or somethin'?'

'Probably- but I don't see why I should. You need to learn to deal with 'er on yer own, Joey.'

'But…' Joey protests. She raises an eyebrow, trying to make him stop, but he goes on anyway. 'I just can't deal with Roxy. I lose me resolve.'

Martina deliberates. 'You need to do it on yer _own_ , Joey,' she repeats, but she doesn't sound so harsh this time. She might even be on the verge of caving.

'Couldn't you just wait there- somewhere nearby, come and give me a rescue if I need one?'

She sighs, slumps against him. 'Oh, all right.'

A weight's lifted from Joey. 'You are the most wonderful woman in the world, sweetheart- have I told you that before?'

Martina ignores the remark.

'Come on,' she kisses his forehead, 'we'd better go down ter dinner or yer Mam'll send Billy up to find us again.'

Joey laughs, remembering the embarrassment the last time they'd missed a meal, a few nights ago, the look on Billy's face when he'd barged into the room and realised _why_ they weren't turning up. He hastily gets to his feet, taking both of her hands and pulling her off the bed.

'Yeah, we don't want to traumatise him again, do we?'

She snorts, takes his arm and they head down together.

* * *

'When's me breakfast comin'?' Grandad demands the moment Joey steps onto the street. He's swaddled up in three different blankets, the strong aroma of perfume around him indicating one of them is a gift from Aveline.

'It'll be along, Grandad, it'll be along,' Joey mumbles, opening up the boot of his car and stacking his and Martina's bags into it.

'Oh- are you goin', then?'

'Yeah, well- you'll be all right now, won't you, son? Just need to take it easy for a few weeks, don't you?'

'I don't want to take it easy,' Grandad says. 'I want to go for a _walk_. Me brain's fed up o' lookin' at the same set of houses, only bein' allowed to think o' the same places.'

'I'll give Billy a yell,' Joey promises. 'he can come push you in your chair.'

'I don't want that!'

'Jack, then. He's only over the road.'

'I don't want to be pushed in me chair! I want to walk!'

Joey gives up. There's no pleasing him.

He goes back to loading up the car.

* * *

At four o'clock that afternoon, Joey takes a seat opposite Roxy in a bustling restaurant, unwilling to meet her in her own territory in case she somehow finds a way to trick him again.

He takes a breath. _Come on, son. Just get it over with. Ask what she wants. Ask about Oscar._

'Go on,' Roxy says. 'What is it?'

Joey blinks. He's not _ready_ to speak, yet. He feels like Billy.

'You were the one who phoned me up, beggin' to talk. So what is it you want to talk about?'

'You _know_ what.'

'Oh, don't play games, Joey!'

He laughs bitterly. As if _she_ has a right to talk about _games_.

'What about this one _you're_ playin', then? You asked me if I wanted to see Oscar, and then you handed me your tax return and expected me to do it for you!'

'I just asked if you'd _help_ , that's all, just while you were there…'

'And just while Oscar _wasn't._ Tell me, Roxy, when you said I could see him, did you mean it at all? Or did you just wanna lure me in to help you out?'

'I just thought there was no harm in asking, that's all.'

'And why couldn't your _fancy man_ have helped you?'

'I _told you,_ he's havin' surgery. Besides, if I'd known you were gonna make such a fuss, I never would have asked you. This wasn't about that, anyway…'

'Then what was it about? I don't understand you, Roxy. What was the point? Is Oscar even down here with you?'

Roxy's silent. Joey's temper rises and rises.

'Well,' he says through his teeth, ' _is he?_ '

There's a long pause. Roxy looks at anything but Joey, and then speaks very softly. 'No.'

Joey can't speak.

'He's up in London with Alberto's family,' Roxy says, just as quietly.

'Then why? What was the point?' Joey's speaking slowly, trying not to let himself lose control. He's hurting, _aching_ \- she's opened up the deep wounds he's harboured for so long, that have never properly healed, and for what? Because she wants favours while her lover's indisposed. And she's turned to him, because she knows he's easy prey.

And he very nearly fell for it. He'd gone to see her, even though he'd been warned not to, even though, in his heart of hearts he'd realised he shouldn't have.

'It was just to _discuss things-_ you're the one who's makin' more out of this than it was, you're the one who can't let go…'

She's trying to turn it all back on him. Joey's getting towards fury now.

He slams his hand against the table.

'I should've _known_ , I should've known! My wife warned me- I should've listened to her in the first place!'

'If she does exist, this wife o' yours,' Roxy says, the slant of her brow indicating she doesn't believe it. 'Or did you just make her up to get at me?'

Joey's palms sweat, his jaw twitching with anger and frustration he doesn't know how to control.

'Oh, I can assure you, our Joey's not _that_ good at lyin',' comes a cool, clear voice, and Joey's bowled over with an immense relief as Martina steps out from around a pillar, a predatory expression on her face, coming to a stop beside him and laying a hand on his shoulder. Her touch calms him, and he feels the muscles in his jaw relax.

'Believe me, if he made somethin' as ridiculous as _that_ up, you'd see right through him in an instant. I've seen 'im try.'

Joey sees Roxy give her the once-over, a hatefully disbelieving look on her face. She scoffs.

'How much is he payin' you, love?'

And she immediately shrinks down. Joey can only imagine the look Martina's giving her.

'I, er…' Roxy's intimidated, but she tries her utmost to hide it. 'I'm Roxy.'

'I know, yeah.' Martina's voice is malevolent, masquerading as friendly.

'We were just discussin'…'

'I _heard_ ,' Martina cuts in. 'I 'eard everythin'.'

Roxy does what she does best, clutches at a straw and tries to throw the conversation back onto whoever's opposing her. 'And what were you doing listening, then? Why are you here?'

'Er- shouldn't I be askin' _you_ that? From what I 'eard, you were livin' 'appily in London. So why are _you_ 'ere? Felt like entertainin' yerself torturin' my husband, did you?'

Roxy looks completely horrified at Martina's nerve. She shoots a look at Joey, and he shrugs, inwardly teeming with pride for the DHSS lady. She's amazing, she is. Cuts straight to the chase in a way Joey can't. And Roxy has no sway over her the way she does Joey. Martina won't take any of her nonsense.

'Will you tell her, Joey, that this conversation is between us, and…'

'You know, I think she's got a point there,' Joey says. 'You were just torturin' me, Roxy, and…'

'Oh, repeat what she says, just like you repeat what yer Mam says- she's probably perfect for you. You need a mother, don't you? Someone to run the show.'

Joey clenches his jaw, and Martina's hand tightens on his shoulder, a silent reminder to stay calm. Roxy's just saying what she knows will rile him up, and he needs to stop rising to it.

'What you don't,' Joey begins, but doesn't get further than that, because a hand taps his other shoulder.

'Excuse me, sir?' It's a waiter. 'Are you Joey Boswell?'

'Greetings!' He gives a curt nod. 'I am he.'

'There's a call for you at reception.'

Joey frowns. What an odd thing to happen, and now of all times! He looks from Roxy to Martina. His second wife smiles at him.

'Go and take it if you need to, love,' she says, sounding innocent and at the same time far from it. 'I'll 'old the fort 'ere.'

So Joey goes, walks through the building into the other chamber and toward reception. What's Martina going to do, alone with Roxy? What'll they both say? He imagines them both discussing him, wonders what she's going to say.

The man behind the counter at reception clears his throat, and Joey realises he's been standing there not saying anything.

'Er, I believe you have a telephone call for me,' he says, switching on the charm, or doing the best impression of it he can at the moment.

The man shakes his head slowly.

'Joey Boswell,' he clarifies.

The man shakes his head again. 'There's no phone call.'

'But- there must be. They said my name and everythin'…'

The bloke shrugs. 'Problem on the switchboard no doubt.' And he turns away, leaving Joey confused and a tad annoyed at the inconvenience. He walks back outside, grumbling to himself. He was in the middle of an important conversation when all this happened, and to not even have had to answer a call at all…

 _Of all the ridiculous-_ Joey pauses mid-thought, gazing round the pillar at Martina and Roxy's table. They seem very deeply involved in their discussion, whatever it's about. Joey wonders if he should go over there, but a little voice in his head tells him to wait. He can't really see what's going on, not from distance, but even from all the way over here it's clear enough that Martina's got a firm grip on the situation, is doing some fairly vicious negotiating.

He waits and watches. Roxy gets to her feet, then seems to think better of it and sits down. More arguing. He can only just pick out their voices, and not individual words, but their tones speak for themselves. Roxy's getting shrill. Martina's voice remains calm and even, but at the same time low and laced with something dangerous.

They both look round, and seeing him there, Martina waves him over.

Roxy stands. 'I'm sorry, Joey.'

Joey's flabbergasted. She actually sounds like she means it. Or at least like she's being forced to say this.

'I shouldn't have brought Oscar up again, shouldn't have done that to you. I know you loved him. I should have left well alone.'

Joey is completely and utterly astounded. This isn't the Roxy he knows.

'You never would have let…' he says, ' I mean you never…would you?'

'No. I'm sorry.'

It hurts to hear the truth, but at least Joey knows for certain. At least it's over, at _last_. He nods at Roxy.

'Well, I suppose this is it then. Goodbye. For real, this time.'

'Yeah,' Joey says. 'Goodbye then.'

And Roxy walks toward the door. Joey watches her go, perhaps for the last time, and feels relief, pain and anger all at once.

Martina comes and stands beside him.

'Let go of it, Joey,' she whispers. And Joey exhales, watches the anger float away, and does what he should have done in the first place. He takes Martina's advice. He accepts she's right.

He nods, and she smiles at him.

'Thanks, sweetheart. For whatever you did.' He ponders. 'Of all the times to have to go answer the phone- and then it turned out they'd messed things up on the switchboard, you know- there wasn't even a call for me in the end!'

'Course there wasn't,' Martina doesn't sound half as surprised by his comment as he'd expected. 'I made it up ter get rid o' you. Told them to tell yer.'

Joey blinks. 'You did?'

She rolls her eyes at him. 'And I thought you were supposed ter be _clever_. Thought you'd 'ave cottoned on straight away.'

His mind really has been clouded by this whole incident. Well, no matter. It's over now.

'What exactly did you say to her?' Joey inquires, slipping her arm through his as they turn for the door.

Martina smirks. 'Oh, I just _reminded_ 'er of somethin'.'

'What?'

Her smirk increases in intensity. 'Just that you're _mine_ , and if she knows what's good fer 'er she'll stop harrassin' yer.'

'I've said it before, and I'll say it again- you are a possessive woman.'

'I am, yeah. And it's just as well, isn't it? You'd never have been rid o' her on yer own.'

He looks down lovingly at her.

'Yeah,' he says, 'it is.'

* * *

As they leave, Joey's smothered with misery. He feels like a fool.

It's just as well he'd taken Martina with him today, otherwise he might have been deceived into following his ex-wife around forever, doing her dirty work. Having them both together, having Martina there to be the voice of reason, has helped him realise once and for all how Roxy's been playing him all these years. He needs Martina to ground him in reality, or else he'd always be running off after the kites that are his past failures, his unattainable goals, his hopeless hopes about Roxy and the kid- and they _were_ hopeless hopes.

It doesn't make the hurt stop, though. He remembers once, a few years ago, Billy standing in the street, bawling his eyes out, crying that he wanted his child- that Julie was keeping Francesca from him. He'd held his brother, tried to comfort him, but he wasn't able to- had never been in that situation. He didn't know how to condole him, because he didn't know what it was like.

He knows now. He misses Oscar dreadfully, and though he knows Roxy would never, ever have actually let him see the boy, the idea that there might have been a chance, even a fake one, had drawn him to it like a moth to the flame, had been far too appealing. He thinks of Oscar's little face, of his eyes and his gap-toothed smile and it feels like a knife's been pushed through his stomach as he realises with total finality that his last hope of seeing his child has slipped from his grasp forever.

He walks silently by Martina's side, wallowing in this thought.

'Are you all right?' Martina stops him in the middle of the road, ignoring the angry shouts from the driver of the car who's had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting them.

He looks at her, at the concern etched around her eyes.

'Yeah,' his mouth twitches. 'I'm fine.'

Martina's hand slips into his, lacing their fingers.

'Why don't we go and get some quotes fer gettin' yer Jag resprayed?'

She's trying to cheer him up, he knows, and though he thinks it'll take a while for the scab to reseal over the Oscar wound, for him to be cheery again, he loves her all the more for making the effort.

So when he smiles at her, he means every inch of it. 'Oh, you know what? I don't think I want to paint me Jag red anymore.'

Martina's mouth opens in a half-gape, half-smile. 'After all that fuss you made, tryin' ter convince me it was worth it 'cause of Inspector Morse?'

'Oh, come _on_ , Martina,' he teases, 'just because Inspector Morse has a red Jag doesn't mean I need one too!'

'Ah- _you_!' she splutters in disbelief, swinging at him with her handbag. He swoops in, grabbing her round the waist and kissing her for all he's worth.

'OI! OI! GET OFF THE ROAD YOU IDIOTS!' The driver who they've halted is getting very impatient now, beeping his horn like a maniac. 'TIME AND A PLACE! I'VE GOT PLACES TO BE, YOU KNOW!'

Somehow managing not to break their kiss, Martina swings them around so they're out of his way, but still not back on the pavement. The driver goes off, throwing a few choice swear words back at them as he accelerates away. They pull apart, hands clasped in each other's, and laugh.

And they laugh and they kiss and they laugh for a long time, before Martina's face grows serious. 'You'll be all right, Joey. I know you will.'

He touches her cheek, runs a hand through her hair. She hasn't curled it in years now, but he still instinctively kinks his hand up when it comes to the ends. 'I think I might be- if you'll help me get through it.'

'O' _course_ I'll help yer. I'll stick by yer.' She lays a hand on his shoulder. 'That's what Boswells do, or so I've been told.'

It's such a shock to hear Martina refer to herself as a Boswell that Joey starts laughing again, though his insides are shuddering with the impact of just how moved he is by the comment. She's right. She's one of the family, in every sense. So different to Roxy.

In fact, Joey thinks, he might go so far as to say she's the perfect _antidote_ to Roxy.

'You know somethin'? I _really_ love you,' he announces.

They kiss again, a violently passionate affair, and nearly get run over by a car coming in the opposite direction. They manage to stumble onto the pavement this time, listening to the driver's insults fading into the distance.

And though Joey wouldn't call himself happy right now, not after all the Roxy-Oscar stuff, he knows there isn't anywhere he'd rather be than on the side of the road with Martina, enraging motorists at random.

That's true love, that is. And he's glad to have it. It helps, it really does.


End file.
